


Paris

by hazelandglasz



Category: Glee
Genre: Bucket List, Fluff, Food Porn, M/M, Paris (City), Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:45:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4680893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Road Trip 2015<br/>Bienvenue à Paris boys ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paris

“You know what we need to do?”

Kurt giggles as Blaine’s voice vibrates against his ear, since he’s laying his head on his husband’s stomach.

“No, what?”

“We need to go to Paris.”

“ _Need_?” Kurt tries to keep from turning judgmental.

For heaven’s sake, they already made it across the Pond, he tries to reason with himself before even trying to convince Blaine.

Extending the trip to Paris seems a bit too much, doesn’t it?

Well, Paris is a train away, would it really be that bad to go to St. Pancras right now and take the next train to the French capital?

Blaine’s fingers dig deeper in his hair. “Yes, honey,  _need_.”

“I’m listening,” Kurt replies, opening his eyes to look up.

God this is not a flattering angle, but Blaine still is the most handsome man he’s ever seen.

“We need to cross the Channel, we need to visit Paris before we add more responsibilities to our plates,” Blaine lists, gently tapping the tip of Kurt’s nose as he says, “and you know we will add more of those when we’re back home. Work, kids, need I say more?”

“Go on.”

Blaine’s grin turns into a smirk, and Kurt knows that he knows that he’s already won.

“I want to share a real croissant with you,” he purrs, leaning down to kiss Kurt’s lips slowly, “and I want us to dance in the lights of the Louvre’s Pyramid at sunset.”

“You did your research.”

“You know me,” Blaine replies, leaning over for a deeper kiss, “always ready.”

Kurt kisses back before straightening up to straddle Blaine’s lap. “My personal boy scout,” he whispers, crossing his arms around Blaine’s neck, lazily rolling his hips.

Blaine’s hands jump to Kurt’s hips. “Want me to show you how to, hm, start a fire in the wild?”

Kurt barely starts whistling the theme to “Light My Fire” before Blaine lifts him up to throw him on his back on the bed, both of them laughing into more kisses.

—

“Are we there yet?”

Kurt giggles. “We are still in the Channel, Blaine.”

Blaine returns his eyes to the window, tapping his fingers on the armrest while Kurt keeps on perusing the Time Out Paris he bought at St Pancras before they embarked a late afternoon Eurostar train.

_Places to eat, places to eat, somewhere very French but modern, come on TimeOut, don’t betray me now …_

“Ah!”, he exclaims after reading the description of a place that sounds amazing.

Whimsical and delicious–what more could he ask for their first dinner in Paris?

Especially since they are only going to spend two days and two nights in the French city, Kurt wants to make sure that they experience the best of it–on a budget.

“Ah, what?” Blaine asks as he turns in his seat to look at Kurt, apparently done with staring at the walls of the tunnel.

“I have found the perfect place for us to eat tonight.”

“Care to share?” Blaine replies, scooting closer to Kurt.

“Nope, I’ll keep it a surprise, if you don’t mind.”

Blaine tries everything: puppy eyes, pouting, kissing Kurt’s temple in that soft way of his that usually turns Kurt into jelly, but not this time.

For now, he turns away from Blaine to send an e-mail to the restaurant to assure a table for the both of them.

—

The weather in Paris is surprisingly tame, warm but windy enough to be comfortable, so they walk to the restaurant, leaving their luggage at the station’s checkroom.

Blaine gives up on finding out where they are going after a while, putting his trust and his hand in Kurt’s while he enjoys the architecture–the buildings are not as tall as the ones that have become his new home, but there is something impressive in the carved stones and the wooden doors they pass on their way.

The streets become slightly steeper, and Kurt looks more and more focused, until they reach a[particular place](http://blogue.voyagesbergeron.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/Priv%C3%A9.jpg).

“Here we are!”

Blaine looks up, following Kurt’s gaze. “ _Privay de dessert_?” he reads, and frowns at his husband. “Doesn’t that mean ‘Deprived of Dessert’?”

Kurt’s smile only widens. “You’ll see.”

As they sit down, Kurt looks at the way Blaine’s face lightens up in the soft lamps, the way his eyes dart to the [posters on the wall](http://i.ytimg.com/vi/utWnayrOnLw/maxresdefault.jpg) next to their table, and he falls in love all over again.

There really is something magically romantic in this city.

The menu is in French, but they both speak enough of it to manage, and Kurt is too busy giggling at the description of the meals to look at Blaine, but he has a feeling his husband is just as amused as he is.

“ _Vous avez choisi*?_ ” the waiter returns to their table with a smile, and Kurt looks at Blaine who nods.

“I’ll have the [cheesecake](https://legoutdesvoyages.files.wordpress.com/2015/06/image11.jpg) for starters please,” he says, and Blaine mumbles an “of course”. “And then I’ll have the [religieuse](http://www.lamontagne.fr/photoSRC/bqUyVelNbWe1aAxBwXruFG8LIKncgI5EqzxysNngmzhLQqc95EY68d5L1WxH7gOSe4AgvLt9FhffSVHCrA9xuoG6bA--_/2172289.jpeg).”

“Alright,” the waiter replies, writing everything down and switching to English with ease. “And for you sir?”

Blaine frowns at the menu before giving it a firm nod. “I’ll start with the [waffle](https://legoutdesvoyages.files.wordpress.com/2015/06/image1.jpg), please, and then for entrees, I’ll have the [biscuit](https://legoutdesvoyages.files.wordpress.com/2015/06/image3.jpg).”

“Good choices,” the waiter says, picking up the two menus. “And for drinks?”

Kurt turns to Blaine with raised eyebrows. “I think we’ll have water,” Blaine replies, before covering Kurt’s hand with his, “and two glasses of [Chardonnay](http://www.riedelglass.com.au/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/0f396e8a55728e79b48334e699243c07/6/4/6416-97_1.jpg), to go with the fish?”

“May I recommend the Montravel?” the waiter says, pointing his pen to the sheet of paper. “It’s softer, and it will go better with both of your choices.”

“Montravel it is,” Blaine replies with a beaming smile,

The waiter walks away, and Kurt covers their joined hands. “I’m so happy you convinced me,” he says and Blaine scoffs.

“Not that it was that hard to convince you in the first place,” he replies, “and thank you for finding a good beginning to this French parenthesis.”

The waiter returns with a basket of bread and their glasses of wine, and they silently toast in celebration of themselves.

—

The food is delicious, surprising in its shape and mouth-watering in its execution, and they are both more than a little tipsy when they come out of the restaurant.

All the energy still pulsing in the city at midnight is contagious, and Blaine takes Kurt’s hand in his, swinging their joined hands between them as they make their way back to the station to get their suitcases.

They don’t talk much, but there is no need for that: they’re happy, their stomachs are filled with delicious food, and Paris seems to be on its best behavior just for them.

They do have to run to catch the bus and Kurt helps Blaine with his suitcase to get in, the driver grumbling, making them giggle like little kids.

Kurt sits opposite to their way, his eyes darting from the streets that pass them by to Blaine’s face, and maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s Paris, maybe it’s the adrenaline of the whole trip, but he really, really wants to make love to his husband right now.

“Bastille, we need to get off,” Blaine says, and he gives Kurt a funny look when Kurt starts giggling as they walk out of the bus.

“Get off,” Kurt repeats, and Blaine shakes his head with a smile.

“Come on, Mr. Inappropriate,” he says, pulling Kurt by his sleeve as they walk down the [street, at the crossroads between the Bastille Square and the Boulevard](http://41.media.tumblr.com/9b8ffc69fa246908adf69c2559e8dcd0/tumblr_nqs01qxI7b1r70b7mo8_500.png), the full Moon bright enough above their heads to make it look like daylight.

The check-in at the [hotel](http://www.ibis.com/photos/1399_ho_00_p_346x260.jpg) goes smoothly, and the room will do–it’s not as fancy as the ones they have stayed in in some parts of their trip, but it’s comfortable and [homey](http://www.ibis.com/photos/1399_ro_00_p_346x260.jpg).

And the bed is big and soft, but not too soft.

Kurt bounces on it a bit while Blaine brushes his teeth, and he beams at him when Blaine comes out in his boxers.

“No use in putting my pajamas on, right?” Blaine asks and Kurt nods slowly.

“Wait for me,” he says, rushing to the bathroom himself.

His teeth are touched by the toothpaste and the brush, but Kurt doesn’t spend the usual three minutes recommended–no time to waste.

When he comes out, Blaine is lying on the bed, one hand stuck in his boxers in a motion that leaves nothing to the imagination.

His hair, free of curls, are spread over the pillow and he looks like some kind of mythological god or creature.

Kurt walks quickly to the bed, crawling up to Blaine to cover him, and he smiles into their kiss as Blaine takes his hand out to wrap his arms around his waist.

“ _Que je t’aime, que je t’aime, que je t’aime_  …,” he sings under his breath, peppering kisses down Blaine’s jaw, Blaine’s answering laughter bringing their bodies together in interesting ways.

And then, Blaine surprises him by taking over the French song.

“ _Quand ta bouche se fait douce_ ,” he sings, brushing his thumb against Kurt’s lips, “ _Quand ton corps se fait dur_ ,” taking his hand down to Kurt’s cock, “ _Quand le ciel de tes yeux_ ,” he continues, putting a hand on the side of Kurt’s face, “ _D’un seul coup, n’est plus pur …_ ”

They could go on, Kurt is sure, but he wants to make a different kind of music, and Blaine seems only too happy to follow his lead.

—

The next morning, Blaine is up before Kurt, and that gives him the opportunity to go down to the reception to check a few things.

The young woman at the front desk manages to explain, in a heavily accented English, how to get to a boulangerie and the funnest way to go to the Place des Vosges.

Kurt is in the shower when Blaine comes back to the room, a bag of croissants in his hands, minus the brioche he had intended on sharing with Kurt, but it was all warm and fluffy!

Irresistible.

Kurt comes out of the bathroom wearing only a towel, and yes, that would complete his breakfast nicely, except that they have a to make the best of Paris while they’re here, so Blaine sighs and holds up the bag of viennoiseries.

Because if there is one thing that will distract Kurt Hummel from sex, it’s definitely greasy and delicious food.

“I’ll eat them on our way to wherever you’re taking us,” Kurt says, taking a pair of used jeans and a nice purple shirt.

“How do you know I planned an itinerary?” Blaine asks, amazed by Kurt’s perceptiveness.

“Sturdy shoes,” Kurt says with a nod towards Blaine’s feet.

“Oh.”

“I’m not psychic, honey,” Kurt says with a laugh, pecking Blaine’s lips. “Now come on, Paris is ours for the taking.”

~~~~

A short walk from the hotel brings them near a public [park](https://36.media.tumblr.com/8e5a9ba12473f73f169282dedde48e94/tumblr_nstwf3aqtf1r70b7mo1_540.png) where kids are playing, running around and shouting at each other under their mothers or nannies’ benevolent and watchful looks. They both stop walking to look at the scene, and Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand with a small smile.

_One day._

They keep on walking, passing a Harley Davidson store–definitely  _not_  what they expected to find in Paris, that’s for sure–before Blaine takes a strong turn to their right.

“Where are you going?” Kurt asks, trotting to join him on the narrow sidewalk.

“Trust me,” Blaine replies, wiggling his fingers behind him to let Kurt take his hand.

They pass a [chocolatier](https://d1o4mgabjdl60n.cloudfront.net/imagesbo/restaurants/700x300/zROOM_Vannier_1.jpg) that captures Kurt’s attention–little chocolates that look delicious, but also chocolate [shoes](http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-aS3dTtvJoWk/VWBi3CQgoRI/AAAAAAAAFy8/SdxGsk8AM20/richelieu.jpg?imgmax=320) and chocolate … Oh.

“Oh my God,” Blaine whispers with a shaky giggle.

“Is that …?”

“That it is.”

“A chocolate [sex toy](https://wwwdotgretagarburedotcom.files.wordpress.com/2014/04/sextoy-en-chocolat-marc-dorcel-etchocolaterie-josc3a9phine-vannier.png),” they say together before leaning against each other to laugh to their heart’s content.

Sighing to catch up their breath, they keep on walking, finally reaching a large square, and Kurt spots many contemporary [art galleries](https://36.media.tumblr.com/6024939f029b06d44d506f6c1a9eddb5/tumblr_nstx8dgXU91r70b7mo2_r1_540.png).

“Do you want to shop?” he asks, already eyeing a big neon colored sculpture of a runner–really dynamic, and it would look so great in the living room of … an apartment they don’t have yet.

“Window shopping, for now,” Blaine replies, “even if we can always get informations about the artists we like for …”

“For some time in the future,” Kurt completes, nodding, and Blaine beams at him.

“Exactly,” he says, “but this was not why I wanted to come here.”

“Alright gimme a second,” Kurt replies, snapping a picture of the sculpture and the informations pertaining it.

“Come on, he’s already started,” Blaine says, his walk faster now until they reach a [junction](https://41.media.tumblr.com/927e738dd6c0756ee44d8a0d3c46fa62/tumblr_nstx8dgXU91r70b7mo1_540.png).

Every sound is broadened by the high arches of the alcoves, and Kurt can hear someone singing–sounds like an opera, and Kurt’s eyes widen when he sees that i[t is a man singing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WsGLJio4hFo&feature=youtu.be&list=PLoK0Gi9UxbvekUNojyE2WcnlIH8u87Cl1).

That song feels like a parenthesis, an unexpected one in what is already a pretty amazing break from their lives.

Kurt turns to Blaine, whispering in his ear. “How did you know about him?”

“Sebastian mentioned that there are always performers in this neighborhood,” Blaine replies, voice down to a whisper too.

“How is the meerkat doing,” Kurt asks, more teasing now that some time has passed between the three of them.

“He’s pretty good,” Blaine replies, “shaking Harvard from its roots.”

“Naturally.”

~~~~

The man stops singing and bows to the small crowd who stopped to listen to him, and they clap as energetically as they can, dropping coins and one five euros note into the man’s hat.

“Now, where to?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine replies, “your turn.”

For a moment they just walk aimlessly, looking at the Parisians and the tourists walking around. And then Kurt spots a poster that makes him squeal. If his memory serves him right, they are not too far from …

“Wait for me,” he tells Blaine, leaving him in front of a store, before trying to find someone that will be able to help him.

His ear catches a conversation in English between two young women.

“Excuse me,” he says, and they both recoil away from him before settling, “I’m looking for the Pompidou museum?”

The tallest one smiles at him. “You’re in ze right direction,” she answers, her accent only coming out a little. “Just take zat street, keep walking until the rue du Renard and you’ll find it.”

“Merci,” Kurt replies, and he smirks on his way back to Blaine as he hears them giggling away. “Come on, hubby, we have a [show](http://boutique.centrepompidou.fr/uploads/photos/776/689_xl.jpg) to see.”

—

Beaubourg is a shock from the start, the [architecture](http://40.media.tumblr.com/32be810c0f3d1ae44820a472947b8e07/tumblr_ns00m9EJO51tlsmsgo1_400.jpg) of it visible from miles away.

But they already knew that.

They take the many escalators up and up and up to the very top of the museum, and they take a moment to admire the sight of almost all of Paris bathed in the soft summer light.

And then they walk inside the exhibition rooms, Jeff Koons’ massive metallic [sculptures](http://40.media.tumblr.com/9cde8db299fbec7cad1ec17374602621/tumblr_nlu4v452Oy1r70b7mo6_500.jpg)welcoming them from the get go.

“Oh wow,” Blaine whispers, and Kurt smiles at his husband’s enthusiasm.

“It’s fantastic–oh,” Kurt replies, stopping short when facing the gigantic portrait of the artist with the woman who was his wife then.

“That’s something,” Blaine deadpans, and Kurt has to bite on his lower lip to keep from laughing at his husband’s dry wit.

“In all seriousness, though,” Kurt comments as they reach the end of the exhibition, [porcelain sculptures](http://40.media.tumblr.com/c9a42b6b20551705d5d3a322c29fb191/tumblr_nlu4v452Oy1r70b7mo10_500.jpg) highlighted by blue, metallic spheres, “I could see one of those in our place.”

“Once we’re rich and famous, you mean,” Blaine replies, leafing through one catalogue of the exhibition and snorting at the lobster sculpture.

“Precisely.”

“Add it to the list then.”

“Will do.”

—

They keep on walking–it would be a shame to take the subway in this weather–and the falafel they had for lunch keeps them filled until the late afternoon.

Their feet take them to the bank of the Seine where several young men are playing different songs on guitars. It should be cacophonic, but it creates a melody that Kurt will forever associate with the magic of this trip they organized for themselves.

Kurt’s phone beeps in his pocket, and Blaine looks around them, snapping pictures as he waits for him.

“Come on,” Kurt says, taking Blaine’s hand when he returns, “I remember something from your Parisian bucket list.”

Blaine frowns, but follows Kurt, until they reach an old looking building and he recognizes it.

“Oh Kurt,” he whispers, tightening his hold on Kurt’s fingers.

They can’t hear the music from the banks anymore, the notes covered by the chatter of the crowd entering the Louvre, but that doesn’t stop them.

Kurt puts his hand on Blaine’s waist and his right hand in his left, and they start swaying on the spot.

Sure, they earn a few amused looks, but they don’t care–they’re dancing to their own beat, in Paris, and that’s all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> The French song Kurt and Blaine sing is "Que je t'aime", by Johnny Halliday


End file.
